“She started up wildly, throwing her arms about my neck.
“‘Won’t you please call me Daisy?’ she sobbed, piteously; ‘just Daisy––nothing else.’
“‘Certainly, my dear, if you wish it,’ I replied. ‘There is one question I would like to ask you, Daisy––you have told me your mother is dead?’
“‘Yes,’ she said, leaning her golden head against the window, and watching the white clouds overhead in the blue sky––‘my poor, dear mother is dead!’
“‘Then will you answer me truthfully the question I am about to ask you, Daisy, remembering your mother up in heaven hears you.’
“She raised her blue eyes to mine.
“‘I shall answer truthfully any question you may put to me,’ she said; ‘if––if––it is not about Mr. Stanwick.’
“‘It is about yourself, Daisy,’ I said, gravely. ‘Tell me truthfully, child, are you really a wife?’
“She caught her breath with a hard, gasping sound; but her blue eyes met mine unflinchingly.
“‘Yes, madame, I am, in the sight of God and man; but I am such an unhappy one. I can not tell you why. My heart is breaking. I want to go back to Allendale!’